


Until The Time Comes

by orphan_account, Stucky_Streisand_Effect



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1940s, Alternate Universe - World War II, Anal Sex, Angst, Apocalypse, Bisexual, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Blood and Violence, Boys In Love, Comfort Sex, Dry Humping, Eventual Smut, Hook-Up, Kissing, Love, Love Story, Love in a hopeless world, M/M, Mad Science, Making Out, POV Bucky Barnes, POV Multiple, POV Steve Rogers, Pain, Pandemics, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Romance, Rushed First Time, Smut, Stucky - Freeform, Switch Bucky Barnes, Switch Steve Rogers, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:53:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26725474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stucky_Streisand_Effect/pseuds/Stucky_Streisand_Effect
Summary: Since this pandemic still isn't over, I figured I'd try to get my frustrations about it out in a constructive way.So, behold!A Stucky fic where a devastating pandemic ravages the world, haha.WWII doesn't quite happen the way it did in our history books in this story....Thank you to my amazing beta, Tesseractingrey!
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	1. Ghosts Of Our Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Since this pandemic still isn't over, I figured I'd try to get my frustrations about it out in a constructive way.  
> So, behold!  
> A Stucky fic where a devastating pandemic ravages the world, haha.  
> WWII doesn't quite happen the way it did in our history books in this story.  
> ...  
> Thank you to my amazing betas, Tesseractingrey and moonlightstucky!

_“Did you enjoy the fireworks, sweetie?” Sarah called after her son. “I asked them to make the show extra special this year, just for you.”_

_Steve looked back and gave his mother a big toothy grin, pushing his tongue against the gaps of his missing teeth._

_“A special show, for my special boy,” said Sarah, smiling back at him._

_Steve skipped down the sidewalk, twirling his half-burnt sparkler. His mother’s words made him feel like he really was someone special -- like a big star up on a fancy stage. The streetlamps could’ve been spotlights as he bounded from one pool of light to the next. “Yes! They were amazing!” he exclaimed, stopping under one and gripping its pole to spin around it. “I’m glad we got to attend this year.”_

_In the past, they had always walked to a park to have a picnic and watch the fireworks from a distance. Steve never minded. He knew his mother worked herself to the bone so that they could afford to keep a roof over their heads, let alone afford extra food for a picnic or a ticket to attend a 4th of July event. Steve had picked up a_ _paper route for the past year to help pay for their admission this year. Despite his mother’s objections, he promised that when he was older, he’d get a better job to help her with the bills. He understood why she objected, though. Some independence was encouraged while growing up, but finances were supposed to be an adult concern. She probably felt guilty that she couldn’t make a better life for them. Every good mother just wanted her kid to be a kid._

_“Hold my hand while we cross the street, honey,” called Sarah, as Steve neared an intersection._

_“I don’t need to,” Steve reassured her. “I’m 10 years old today! Double digits mean I’m all grown up now!” he declared, puffing out his tiny chest._

_The proud twinkle in his mother’s eye made him feel like he was 10 feet tall._

_“You certainly are,” she said with a smile. “But it’s dark, so don’t wander too far.”_

_Not having money for a taxi, they had to walk an hour to and from the event, so they made it back home around 10:30pm. Steve’s last sparkler fizzled out as he skipped up to their apartment door. It was a shoddy, small 2-bedroom apartment that was on the first floor of a rundown apartment complex, but it was home. The memories it held were a big part of what made him love it, despite its dilapidated appearance. Some of Steve’s best memories were of coming home from school and finding his mother home early from work. On those rare days, they could sit down and have dinner together, for once, instead of Steve having to spend that time in their apartment with his sitter. She was a feeble but sweet old lady with trembling hands who lived two doors down. Sarah offered her free medical attention in exchange for watching Steve._

_Sarah caught up to her energetic son and slid the key into the lock. Still feeling the high of the show, Steve bounded inside, making a beeline to their living room couch that he loved jumping on. This was the best part about being on the ground floor -- they didn’t have to worry about annoying people below them. They bought the squeaky old couch used with its cushions already partially flattened, so Sarah didn’t reprimand Steve too much for jumping on it occasionally._

_She giggled, clearly amused by her son’s enthusiasm. Perhaps that’s why neither of them saw the silhouette of a man standing in their kitchen._

_“I thought that walk would wear you out enough for bedtime,” joked Sarah. “You want to listen to some music before bedtime, sweetie?”_

_“Yes!” exclaimed Steve. “Just no slow songs. They make me sleepy.”_

_“Aw, you caught me.” jested Sarah, in a mock hurt tone._

_She closed the door, locked it, and walked the length of their small living room in the dark to the opposite side of the room from Steve, where they kept their gramophone player. She switched on the lamp near it and smiled fondly at it. It had been her mother’s, and was the only luxury item she owned. Despite her late husband Joseph’s objections, she’d insisted on taking it and a few records with them when they immigrated to America from Ireland. Although it was now 1928, all 5 records in their possession were from the late 1800’s. Sarah dreamed of one day being able to afford to update their collection. She grabbed a record by the U.S. Marine Band, feeling it fit the occasion. “Stars and Stripes Forever” was the first song on the record, and so she turned around to watch her son dance to it._

_The smile she’d been wearing instantly dropped and she froze as her eyes fell upon the intruder. He was standing less than ten feet away from Steve, who was still oblivious, holding a knife._

_“Steve,” she said, her voice quivering slightly. “Get over here!”_

_The sudden urgency in her voice snapped Steve out of his euphoria. Her urgency sounded understated, as if she was trying to hide that she was scared. His eyes went to his mother. She wasn’t even looking at him, but the fear in her eyes was still jarring. It made his chest tighten before he followed her gaze and saw an unfamiliar man standing by their kitchen table. Steve couldn’t make out many of his features, due to the only light being clear across the room. But he could at least make out the intruder’s raggedy clothes and a predatory grin that glistened faintly in the dim light._

_“Who are you?” Steve asked. He didn’t like that this man was scaring his mother. It made anger begin to bubble up inside him._

_The man ignored his question._

_“Steve.” He heard his mother say. The urgency in her tone had increased slightly._

_“Who are you!?” he demanded angrily._

_The man’s sinister grin just widened, seemingly amused that a child was challenging him, and took a step towards Steve._

_“Steve! Now!” shrieked his mother. The urgency in her voice now naked and unchecked._

_It gave Steve a start. His body hopped off the couch and hurried over to his mother’s side without any conscious input._

_Sarah barely broke five feet and 100 pounds, but she stepped in front of her son, shielding him from the intruder who was now noticeably closer to them. She had used her left arm to maneuver Steve behind her which was what drew the intruder’s focus to her wedding band._

_“Where’s your husband?”_

_“On his way,” she lied._

_The man raised a bushy eyebrow in suspicion, “At this hour?” There was a sadistic playfulness in his tone. “What does he do?”_

_“He’s a welder,” said Sarah, without skipping a beat._

_The man scoffed. “That’s an interesting accent,” he spat, bringing up her Irish accent. “Is your husband Irish too?” There was hatred in his tone._

_Sarah dodged his question. “He’s a veteran from The Great War, skilled in hand to hand combat.”_

_The man chuckled, clearly not threatened. “You’re a good liar.”_

_Despite him calling her bluff, Sarah didn’t flinch, and her face stayed unreadable._

_“If I hadn’t been watching you for the past week, I might have bought your story.”_

_Steve’s eyes bulged in horror and anger. Had this man really been watching them for that long? Wouldn’t he or his mother have noticed something like that?_

_“You’re lying!” challenged Steve, stepping out from behind his mother._

_The man’s sinister smile returned, and he directly addressed Steve, pointing his menacingly long hunter knife at him but not stepping closer. Maybe he knew his face was still partially obscured by the poor lighting._

_“The thing about this line of work, kid,” he said, twirling his blade skillfully in his hand, “is that you have to scope out the best prey, see who’s easy pickings.” The blade of his knife glinted menacingly in the light._

_Sarah was beginning to panic. Bless her son for not being scared, but he needed to stop antagonizing the armed crazy person that was in their home._ _Her instincts were screaming for her to run for the door, to get her son out of the apartment. Her eyes darted to the front door, wondering if they could make it out, or if the intruder, who even from this distance she could see would tower over them both, would make it to them before she could_ _even unlock the door. Worst case scenario, if he were to attack them, she would rather it be her than Steve. She had to get the intruder’s focus off Steve, and direct it back to her._

_“‘Easy pickings’?” Sarah cut in. “I thought ruffians were tough. How tough does going after a mother and her child make you?” She scoffed._

_The man brought his menacing gaze back to Sarah and stepped closer, brandishing his knife. “Lassie,” he said in a mock Irish accent. His murky green eyes bored into hers, but she stood her ground and glared back. “Even if your husband’s a veteran, it’s obvious he’s not on his way, because he never made it back from war.”_

_Since Joseph Rogers died before Steve was born, Steve had never even known his father. All he’d seen of him were pictures of him and Sarah together before Steve was born. Whenever his mother spoke of him, she never said anything bad about him, but Steve could tell that she was leaving some details out concerning their relationship. She did, however, explain their hardships upon first immigrating from Ireland, about them struggling to get jobs, and about the prejudice._

_Steve glared up at the ruffian, squeezing his tiny hands into fists._

_“I figured I’d rob an Irish family since you people are why I lost my job. And as for your dead husband, good riddance,” he spat. “One less mick in this country.”_

_Steve lost it. He didn’t know exactly what that word meant but having heard people direct that word at his mother in venomous tones, he knew it was bad. “Shut up!” he screamed._

_The criminal’s attention snapped back to Steve, seemingly having forgotten that the little blonde Irish boy was even there._

_Steve wasn’t intimidated. “Get out! Get out of our home! People like you want to blame immigrants who come here for a better life for ruining things, when really you’re the scum ruining this country!” he shouted._

_“You little shit!” hollered the man. He stomped towards them._

_Sarah’s heart leapt into her throat. The adrenaline made her feel as if all her cells were surging with electricity._

_“Run! To my room!” she screamed to Steve._

_Steve’s instinct was to stand his ground but the sheer panic in his mother’s voice is what his body reacted to instead. Him and his mother sprinted to her bedroom door, which was closer than the front door. Once inside, Sarah slammed the door and pushed the lock on it._

_“Climb out the window!” She instructed._

_A loud crash shook the door as the intruder began trying to bash it in. With how cheap the door was, it wouldn’t take long for him to succeed, so Steve didn’t waste any time. He bolted for the window, already beginning to wheeze from his asthma, and pushed it open while his mother leaned against the door._

_“Climb out!” She shouted, not taking her weight off the door._

_“Aren’t you coming?!” he hollered over another smash on the door. He could already hear its old wood beginning to splinter._

_“You get out first!” she demanded. “I’ll be right behind you!” Another thud caused the door to crack against Sarah’s back. “Go!”_

_Steve scrambled out the window. As soon as his toes touched the ground, he whipped around ready to help his mother climb out._

_When Sarah saw that her son was safe, she took her weight off the door and ran towards the window. She reached it just as the door broke and the intruder came stomping into the room. His eyes burned with rage as they locked on Sarah who was halfway out the window. His heavy footsteps shook the apartment as he charged towards her like an angry rhino, making it over just in time to reach out the window and seize a handful of her fair hair._

_Sarah screamed as her petite body was yanked back against the building’s exterior with so much force it knocked the wind out of her._

_“Let her go!” screamed Steve, now completely terrified for his mother’s safety._

_He ran towards the attacker, scratching at the hand that held Sarah’s hair. This only aggravated the man more, so he stuck his other hand, seizing one of her arms and tugging her back inside with alarming speed. Steve was both horrified and enraged. His pulse pounded so frantically in his temples that he felt lightheaded. He knew he didn’t have the strength to pull his mother back out. He only had one option: climb back in. He did it without hesitation._

_“Let her go!” he screamed again._

_The man threw Sarah onto the ground, seemingly not hearing Steve. He pressed a knee onto Sarah’s chest, pulling his knife out of his pocket. Short on options, Steve jumped on the man’s back and bit as hard as he could onto his ear. The taste of copper overwhelmed Steve’s tongue._

_“Fucking little shit!” screamed the man. He used his free hand to reach back, seize Steve’s hair and threw Steve over his shoulder onto the floor. Stunned, Steve coughed violently, struggling to draw breath. But the intruder was far from done. He stood, grabbed Steve by the collar, yanked him into the air, and held the knife against his neck._

_“Stop!” shrieked Sarah. “Take anything you want, just don’t hurt him!”_

_The man flicked his eyes towards Sarah, but kept the knife pressed against Steve’s neck. Steve scratched at the arm that held his collar and kicked his legs wildly in the air. This drew his attention back to Steve._

_“You need to learn how to behave!” growled the man. “I guess your mommy did a poor job raising you,” he sneered. “Can’t really blame her though, with your mick father being dead.”_

_Steve’s fear left him and was replaced by rage. He drove his feet into the man’s chest, managing to kick his stomach. The man let out a surprised grunt and dropped the still wildly flailing Steve to the floor where he landed ungracefully onto his back again._

_“I’m gonna fucking kill you!” yelled the criminal._

_Sarah’s heart felt like it stopped. Her eyes bulged in terror as the intruder lunged at her child, thrusting his knife at him. Her body reacted without her telling it to._

_“No!” she screamed. And with speed Sarah never knew she had, she dove between him and the man._

_Steve would never forget the ear-piercing screech that tore from his mother’s lungs once the knife pierced her lower back. She collapsed on top of him, breathing raggedly, and clutching him as tightly as she could._

_The criminal yanked the knife from her, causing blood to flood her pristine white nurse’s dress at an alarming rate._

_“Since your husband isn’t coming home, you won’t be needing this,” he sneered._

_He grabbed her left hand, ripping her wedding band from it, pocketed it, and raced for the kitchen where they heard him hastily rummaging around in the drawer. After pocketing some semi valuable silverware that had been a wedding gift from extended family, the sound of the gramophone cut off soon after._

_“I’ll take this off your hands too!” yelled the ingrate. “You don’t deserve it.”_

_He barreled out the door, yelling, “Filthy immigrants!” over his shoulder._

_Steve was frozen. His mother still lay on top of him, shielding him as if the man might come back, even if only to take out more of his Irish targeted hatred. Steve couldn’t process what just happened -- it was like reality had shattered. It’s true when they say that no matter how many times you hear about these kinds of things happening, you still never expect it to happen to you. His mother’s scream was still echoing in his ears. The feel of her blood soaking into his clothes is what snapped him out of his shock, as she lifted her head to meet his eyes._

_“Are you okay, sweetie?” she asked between ragged breaths. Despite her pain, she was smiling._

_Steve managed a small nod._

_“Steve,” she said weakly. “I need an ambulance.”_

_Steve’s eyes bulged as reality reassembled, and he realized that it meant his mother was dying. What was he going to do? They didn’t have a phone. Some of the more expensive apartments of the complex did, but he didn’t know which ones. The nearest payphone was in the next neighborhood, and Steve wasn’t keen on leaving his mother alone for long. What if the intruder did come back?_

_“Mrs. Rogers? Steve?” called a croaky old voice from their front door. It sounded like his babysitter._

_“Mrs. Garby?!” Steve called. Some hope found its way into Steve’s heavy heart._

_“Yes! I heard all the commotion. Are you guys alri-”_

_“Do you have a phone?” he interjected._

_“Yes, dear.”_

_“Call an ambulance! My mother she’s…” a sob hitched his words. “S-she’s…” he couldn’t say it. His horror had returned. This wouldn’t have happened if Steve hadn’t had antagonized the intruder. He felt paralyzed by guilt._

_Sarah gently placed one of her hands onto his face. Her eyes were so gentle. “There’s been a stabbing,” Sarah hollered towards their front door. Her voice had a faint shake again._

_Steve apologized to his mother more times than he would ever admit to anyone during the time between when Mrs. Garby went to call the police, and when the paramedics loaded his unconscious mother into the ambulance._

_When he was allowed to see her in the hospital, he stood by her bedside and grasped her hand, which was even paler than usual. “I promise,” he whispered, squeezing her hand, “when I get big and strong, I will protect you!”_

1936

Steve’s head hung low. “The knife just barely missed one of her kidneys.” His chest tightened at the memory. “Since then, she never let me stay home alone. Even now.”

Bucky smiled softly, “And here I just thought you liked spending so much time with me.” His chuckle sounded nervous, like he wasn’t sure if he should be making jokes. Even if only to relieve the tension.

Steve looked at Bucky, “I do like spending time with you, Buck.” 

He meant it with all his heart. Lately, Bucky being around was the only reason why he hadn’t lost all hope, but he still couldn’t bring himself to smile as he gazed into those gentle silver blue eyes. Instead, the corners of his mouth twitched stiffly, like they were being tugged by marionette strings as he tried to force even a hint of a smile, but ultimately failed. As if in rebellion to his effort, his throat tightened up, a lump forming in it. He knew tears would soon follow.

Steve stood up from the park bench he and Bucky were sharing and walked over to the pond it overlooked. The way the light glinted off its tranquil waters and the surrounding trees make it feel secluded and safe. Even as a public place, it felt more private than his mother’s thin walled apartment. After a bad day, this was Steve’s favorite place to be. Having Bucky along didn’t hurt either. Whether him and Bucky had a meaningful heart to heart, Bucky cracked jokes, or if they just sat in silence and watched the sun set; it was the perfect remedy to Steve’s despondency. And on any other day, this would have had that effect. But today, instead of being calmed by the golden rays of the sunset, he was more affected by the long shadows the low sun cast across the park. His eyes fell upon a dead tree across the pond. Its branches cast long jagged shadows that seemingly reached out to him like the claws of the angel of death. 

Speaking of death, Steve was starting to see it everywhere. In the dry wood rot of their cheap apartment complex. In the first few leaves that were beginning to change color and would soon fall. Even the sun dipping beneath the horizon, giving way to the darkness of night to encompass New York, made him think of death. Everything just reminded him of his mother. He knew death was a part of life and _never_ came at the right time, but for a while, he believed that death could at least have meaning. A soldier dying in war to save their country; a firefighter dying in a burning build; a health practitioner dying from a disease they helped their patients overcome…

From an impersonal distance, something like this might be seen as a beautiful sentiment, maybe even poetic, but having to watch it happen to someone you love just felt cruelly ironic. It had a way of shattering the rose colored glasses some people saw life through. Steve was never one for rose-colored glasses. To him, his mother was just…

“…dying,” he muttered.

“What?” Bucky called from the bench.

Steve’s head hung low and his shoulders curled forward as if he were collapsing into himself. It felt like a whirlpool had opened in his heart and was swallowing him up.

“I just… I can’t lose her…” he declared. “Not before I’ve given her the decent life she deserves.” His voice began to break. “S-she deserves so much better than this.”

Bucky rose from the bench to join his friend and swung his arm around Steve’s narrow shoulders. “Your mom’s a fighter,” he reassured. “Clearly, she passed on that trait to you. She’ll pull through -- Sarah could survive the end of days if she wanted to."

…

In a way, Steve was glad she didn’t pull through. Her kind heart would’ve broken, seeing what the world had become soon after her passing.


	2. Married moments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All Bucky wants to do is spend his last night in Brooklyn with his best friend. He gets what he wants but not in the way he expected.  
> Thank you to emmichaelis for the beautiful artwork ^^.

Bucky’s sigh fell as heavily as his footsteps; the only sounds he heard as he jogged through Brooklyn. They were soon accompanied by the sound of his teeth grinding as he tried to stifle an annoyingly familiar shiver. He'd grown more accustomed to the chill that ran up his spine than the town’s uncharacteristic stillness. Instead of warmth and welcome, Brooklyn now filled Bucky with an eeriness he figured he'd never get used to which caused him to stay laser focused on his path because everytime his eyes wandered, he was haunted by memories of his home town’s former glory.

The ice cream parlor he and Steve frequented during the summer; it’s windows were smashed, it’s cotton candy pink walls were now faded and chipped, and its ice cream had melted and molded years ago. The pub they went on double dates to, had thick dust on its bar tops. All it’s liquor had been looted and most of its bar stools were overturned or broken. The parks they went to when they couldn’t afford a night out on the town, were all now littered with garbage and thick overgrown foliage. Abandoned cars, many with smashed windows and flat or missing tires, lined the empty road Bucky jogged down.

He was sporting a new pair of combat boots he’d received at basic training. He wore them with an outfit that he, as a proud ladies man, typically wouldn’t be caught dead in; a pair of old canvas pants and a brown flannel shirt that had so many stains, it resembled a patchwork quilt. Blood was so hard to wash out of fabric.

The dress shoes and suits he typically wore even when he didn’t have a beautiful woman glued to his side, were a luxury that not even the rich could “afford” anymore. Nowadays, women had abandoned makeup and heels for attire similar to Bucky’s. Instead of handbags and jewelry, they accessorized with melee weapons. Soft waves in their hair and flirtatious smiles had been replaced with tight buns and stoicism. Like Bucky, The average “lady” of the 40s typically wouldn’t be caught dead looking like this, but during the apocalypse, your choices were to adapt or die.

Too many people had succumbed to the virus already.

Like most epidemics, it started small, with just a few cases here and there. Much like how a raging forest fire starts as an untended campfire, or a cigarette butt being thrown into some dry bushes before the wind spreads it. In this case, the public’s panic was the wind. As the cases increased, so did civil unrest. Savagery became common while caution and kindness went out the window. People scratched at and trampled each other to buy out the stores and leave town if there were reports of any cases. And soon, entire cities, then states, and eventually countries were overrun with it. There was much uncertainty about the disease at first and that's what caused the panic. The only thing they could confirm about the virus in the beginning is that the very first cases happened in Germany.

At first, doctors thought it was tuberculosis because it had similar symptoms: fever, sweating, shivering, and fatigue. So, they put the first wave of infected in the TB wards overnight. They all died before sunrise. But when somebody came to remove the bodies in the morning, they discovered an unexpected and disturbing new symptom. Those who had been pronounced dead, were up and walking around. The patients screamed animalistically when anybody entered the room, and charged at them like bloodthirsty demons.

The actual TB patients they were roomed with had been slaughtered. Their corpses were still in bed, with multiple bleeding chunks of flesh missing from their body… human bite marks. And like their attackers, they too were up and running around less than 24 hours later.

The Risen, is what the news called them. It became an umbrella term when different stages of infection were discovered over time. 

Bucky ducked into a dilapidated building. The pungent, nauseating smell of garbage, congealing blood, vomit, and other bodily fluids that stained its interior struck his nose. Even after 5 years, he still wasn’t used to the odor.

It was caused by squatters… or worse.

He paused to get his gas mask – a hard item to come by -- out of his backpack. He had to trade six weeks’ worth of ration cards for it. It was well known by now that the pathogen spread predominantly through bites, and on occasion, through infected blood entering a healthy person's body. But lately, there had been cases, or at least claims, that Screecher vomit getting into open wounds or entering a victim's mouth and eyes also led to infection. Either way, extra caution didn’t hurt.

After passing through the house, Bucky hopped a crooked fence that led to The Border of the safe zone. One of the disadvantages of living in a poor district during the apocalypse was the government set it closer to your home. 

The Border (if you could even call it that) was a ten foot chain link fence with razor wire on top and military soldiers, most of which used to be cops, scattered along its length. A year into the outbreak, the army recruited every working police officer because during the end of days, the military were the recognized authority. All cops had received basic training before being spread along The Border where they would guard in shifts. They were spread very thinly because the front lines couldn’t get enough soldiers. 

Bucky shuddered. The knowledge that that’s where he was headed tomorrow never got easier to swallow. Another heavy sigh blew past Bucky's lips as he cut through another one of the many abandoned buildings he usually walked through to get home to Steve.

God, Bucky was going to miss that reckless idiot. With Bucky shipping out in the morning, tonight was their last night together, and so he wanted to spend it in New York with his best friend. He’d even bought a parting gift: a lightly used combat knife that Bucky had traded for with 5 ration cards. He always admired Steve's tenacious fighting spirit, but that quick tempered asthmatic could lose in a fight with a strong enough gust of wind. So, what better gift to leave Steve with than something to help even the odds? A meek yet fond smile graced Bucky's lips as he clutched it in his hand and pictured his fierce little friend cutting down the Risen.

Before the world had fallen to ruin, whenever Bucky was there to pull Steve out of a fight, he'd playfully tease Steve after the bully ran off. One particular time drifted into his mind.

_“Remember Mrs. Sanderson’s little chihuahua?”_

_Steve scoffed. “Yeah. That little shit always tries to bite my ankles.”_

_“You remind me of him.”_

_Steve glared at Bucky. “Shut up.”_

_Bucky had to hold back a smile. Steve especially resembled the angry chihuahua when he glared. “You don't understand,” said Bucky in a mock offended tone. “He reminds me of you because, despite his size, he still has the heart of a wolf. Even with the odds completely against him, he’s still determined to beat them.” He nudged Steve’s shoulder playfully. “He’s also quick tempered.”_

_Steve frowned at Bucky. But it was obvious that he was trying to hold back a smirk._

_“And maybe, he always goes after you because you two are kindred spirits. You two are both fighters. Maybe he sees you as competition.”_

_Steve chuckled amusedly. “Well, at least I’m competition to somebody.”_

After that, Bucky’s new nickname for Steve became ‘Wolfie.’ He loved the way it made Steve smile softly after he lost another fight; the way it painted Steve’s cheeks pink if he said it after a bad double date; the way it made Steve gaze at him when they hung out alone in their apartment.

The memories made Bucky's fond smile grow and his heart feel light, adding a subtle bounce to his walk that he hadn't had since the 30s. Bucky could never understand why none of the women he and Steve went out on double dates with ever saw what he saw in Steve. He ran his thumb over the wolf head he’d painted onto the knife’s handle. He knew the cheap paint wouldn’t last very long, but it was the thought that counted. Bucky would follow his little ‘wolf’ anywhere. He wondered if Steve knew that. The thought caused his face to get hot and his smile to widen even more.

It quickly fell from his face as he neared an alleyway. He clutched Steve’s gift even harder when he heard the sounds of a scuffle. Creature-like snarls and human grunts were coming from deep within the alley. More infected must've made it past The Border. With poor districts being less militarized, this happened on a regular basis, and the poverty stricken were often left to deal with the Risen on their own. And if any of their loved ones suffered a bite, the law was to 'put them down' yourself or if possible, quarantine them in a secure place and contact the military to do it for you. All neutralized infected were then required to be taken to the nearest dumping grounds and burned. The thought of ever having to do that to Steve made Bucky's stomach churn painfully.

The rasping of Bucky’s breath in his mask seemed louder than it usually was as his adrenaline started surging. He stopped breathing so he could hear better. Then, staying as quiet as he could, he brandished Steve's knife and crept up to the edge of the alley to peek into it. All the blood drained from his face, and he nearly threw up. At the end of the alley way lay the body of a young boy, with blood spurting from his neck, while a familiar skinny blonde man tried to fight off a Screecher nearly twice his size. In a split second, Bucky was bolting down the alley and hollering at the top of his lungs for the infected to get away from its prey. In return, it whipped around in Bucky's direction and let forth an inhuman scream. It barred its rotten, splintered teeth, as black goo dripped from its mouth. Bucky was undeterred, and charged at the beast full speed. When he was within striking range, the Screecher swiped a rotting hand at Bucky but he ducked, stayed low, and swiftly cut the tendons at the back of its knee, causing it to fall forward onto its hands as the knee buckled. It tried to grab Bucky's ankles, but Bucky dodged again and drove his combat boot into the back of its head, smashing its face into the ground.

Feral with rage, Bucky delivered the final blow. He tackled the Screecher, flattening it onto its belly, yanked it’s head up by its hair, then drove the knife into its neck and snapped it too for good measure. Overkill, he knew, but Steve was in danger.

He must’ve used more force than necessary, because its body instantly went limp. Even though its spinal cord was clearly severed, it continued to screech ferally as it slowly choked on its own swamp green blood that had stagnated in its veins years ago.

With the enemy neutralized, Bucky rushed over to Steve and the boy, who were now both on the ground.

"Steve!" He exclaimed, ripping off his mask and dropping to his knees. The knife clattered to the ground beside him as he grabbed Steve's shoulders.

"I'm fine," wheezed Steve. "Check on him," he nodded towards the child that now lay motionless in a puddle of his own blood.

There was so much of it that it surrounded the kid's head like a scarlet halo, soaking into his tattered shirt and staining his already dirty hair. The kid looked like another orphan and was even skinnier than 95 lb. Steve. He must’ve been on his own for quite some time, the poor kid. His parents had probably been bitten.

"Is he…" Steve began.

Bucky eyed the ghostly pallor of the boy’s skin, but still crawled over to him and took his wrist to feel for a pulse. His heart sank. It was as he expected. He shook his head sadly and gave Steve an apologetic look.

Anger and guilt took over Steve's features before he lowered his head in shame. Bucky eyed the bite mark that had killed the boy. He needed to destroy the brain before the child turned. Steve had his face buried in his palms, so Bucky took it as an opportunity. He picked Steve's gift back up, turned the boy’s head to the side, and drove the soiled blade hilt deep into the dead boy's temple. It made a sickening wet crunching noise as it went in.

"I couldn't save him," Bucky heard Steve say in a meager voice. Bucky looked back at Steve, who was now looking at the boy. "I guess that means I deserve this," he said, touching his right forearm.

Bucky hadn't noticed it in the heat of the moment, but there was blood trickling down Steve's palm and staining his sleeve. Bucky's heart leapt into his throat and his eyes filled with dread as Steve slowly pulled up his sleeve to reveal the only thing that could’ve been expected in the situation.

"Oh no," Bucky breathed, his voice trembling as his dread quickly turned into panic. "Oh no, no no no no no!" He stood up and grabbed Steve's hand to help him up. "We need to go home! Now!" he hissed.

"Buck… there's no point."

Bucky ignored Steve's protest. "Quickly! Before someone sees us next to 2 dead bodies! Put this on to hide your bite!" he insisted, yanking a jacket out of his backpack and throwing it over Steve's shoulders.

Steve gave Bucky a doubtful expression, but slid his arms into the jacket's sleeves, even if only to calm some of Bucky's nerves.

With only half a mile left to travel, they made it back home in less than 20 minutes. Bucky ran around their shoddy apartment, shutting curtains and rummaging around for their medical supplies in a panic.

"Sit down," he told Steve as soon as he found them. 

They weren’t much. Some hydrogen peroxide, cotton swabs, gauze, and some washing rags. Which were hard enough to come by, especially in poor districts. Disposable rubber gloves were damn near impossible to find too. So, Bucky tended to Steve unprotected.

He ignored Steve's doubtful expression that hadn't faded at all since they left the alley and went to go hurriedly wash his hands. He dipped a cotton swab in some disinfectant, and dabbed it on Steve's bite mark that was already oozing puss. Steve sighed, but didn't stop Bucky from tending to him. As he did, Bucky’s shaky breathing was the only sound that broke the otherwise heavy silence that encompassed them.

In the past, if Steve argued with Bucky for making a fuss over his well being, it always ended with Bucky taking care of him anyway. Steve got sick or hurt so often in the past, it was practically ceremonious for Bucky to take care of him whenever he did. It was Bucky's promise to Sarah before she passed away, and even if she hadn't asked him to, he still would've.

There wasn't a thing Bucky wouldn't do for Steve. Not a single thing.

"Put pressure on that," he instructed, placing a cloth over Steve's wound.

Steve placed a hand on Bucky's that was holding the cloth in place and squeezed it lightly. "Buck," he said softly.

"I don't want to hear it, Steve!" exclaimed Bucky, an obvious shake was in his voice. "We just need to stop the bleeding! Okay!? J-just stop the bleeding and then…" He couldn't form the words.

"And then what?" said Steve in a gentle voice.

Bucky couldn't even open his mouth now. All he could do was clench his jaw and purse his lips to keep them from quivering.

"And then," Steve repeated, placing his free hand on Bucky's shoulder, "we find something to do for the next 6-12 hours."

Bucky's head fell forward as the devastation of their reality finally crushed his denial. He felt Steve rub his shoulders as they began to shake from his sobbing. Would Steve even last 6 hours with his poor immune system?

When Bucky was able to lift his face, his red puffy eyes met Steve's clear blue ones. Steve’s looked strong, unrepentant, and unafraid.

"You always wanted me to learn how to dance," said Steve with an encouraging smile. "Let's start with that."

Bucky wiped away his remaining tears, opened a west facing curtain to let some sun in, and spent the next three hours teaching Steve the East Coast Swing, the Jitterbug, Foxtrot, and how to Jive. Steve was a fast learner and aced them all. Bucky even managed to crack a few jokes which had them laughing carelessly a few times. They were so engrossed, they barely noticed the absence of a record player. When Steve began to wheeze, Bucky suggested a slower dance.

He watched Steve’s dewy face morph into an expression of confusion and amusement as Bucky waggled his eyebrows at Steve in a goofy way. He walked over to the light beam from the window, and held his hand out in a dramatic way that suggested this was just going to be for laughs.

"Spotlight slow dance?"

He'd fantasized about asking Steve to dance long before the world fell into chaos, but of course never did, for obvious reasons. But now, old social “norms” and what was “proper” didn't matter. They barely even existed anymore.

Bucky again wiggled his eyebrows in a cartoonish way at Steve, expecting Steve to playfully slap his hand away and tease him. But his goofy expression melted, and a look of awe lit up his face as he watched Steve’s teasing smirk soften into a tender smile. The sincere look in Steve's eyes made Bucky's breath hitch in his throat. 

For a moment, the two men stared into each other’s eyes; held by nothing more than the other’s gaze. 

Until Steve stepped in close and took Bucky’s hand. He maintained eye contact as he placed his other hand on Bucky’s shoulder and Bucky’s free hand fell to Steve’s waist before he could stop it. The air stilled between them as neither of them seemed to be breathing now.

It was as if time had stopped just to briefly extend an instant and one moment became its own eternity. 

Bucky glimpsed heaven in a pair of blue-green eyes before they were swept under a curtain of long lashes as Steve closed his eyes. Steve’s arm joined his other around Bucky’s shoulders and he leaned his head against Bucky’s chest.

Even being partially deaf, Bucky knew there was no way Steve didn’t hear his heart hammering against his ribs. So, he embraced it and placed his free hand onto the back of Steve’s head; pressing it ever so closer to his heart.

 _For as long as I can remember, it’s always beat just for you. No use hiding that now._ He thought to himself.

Bucky glanced down at Steve; the early evening sun lit his hair up like gold. He looked so ethereal; so fragile, yet so unbreakable. But most importantly, he looked at peace. Bucky sighed serenely, and leaned his head against the top of Steve's head.

They hadn’t needed music for the more lively dances with Bucky counting the beats or cracking jokes. But slow dancing was different. And with no gramophone to drown out the creaking of the floorboards, Bucky chose to sing instead. Growing up, his parents had insisted on singing lessons. He was no Bing Crosby, but he could at least carry a tune. So, he sang one; softly, to the only person that he wanted to hear.

 _Is the struggle and_ _strife we find in this life_

 _Really_ _worth while,_ _after all_

 _I've been_ _wishing today I_ _could just run away_

 _Out_ _where the west_ _winds call_

_With_ _someone like you, a pal good and true_

 _I'd like to_ _leave it all_ _behind and go and find_

 _Some_ _place that's_ _known to god alone_

_Just a spot to call our own_

_We'll find_ _perfect peace,_ _where joys_ _never cease_

 _Out_ _there beneath a_ _kindly sky_

 _We'll_ _build a_ _sweet little nest_ _somewhere in the west_

 _And let the rest of the_ _world go by_

_Is the_ _future to hold just_ _struggles for gold_

 _While the real_ _world waits outside_

 _Away out on the_ _breast of the_ _wonderful west_

 _Across the_ _great divide_

_With_ _someone like you, a pal good and true_

 _I'd like to_ _leave it all_ _behind and go and find_

 _Some_ _place that's_ _known to god alone_

_Just a spot to call our own_

_We'll find_ _perfect peace,_ _where joys_ _never cease_

 _Out_ _there beneath a_ _kindly sky_

 _We'll_ _build a_ _sweet little nest_ _somewhere in the west_

 _And let the rest of the_ _world go by_

They swayed back and forth like tall grass in a gentle summer’s breeze, completely at peace and detached from the passing time with Bucky humming slow song after slow song. Somewhere during that time, Bucky's eyes closed and his imagination began to drift like it always did when he fantasized. Instead of their blood stained clothing, he pictured them in suits. His humming became a band playing in the background. Their rundown apartment became an idyllic reception. And instead of a second world war, their wedding day. In his head, he signaled to the band to play him and Steve's special song before holding Steve even closer.

_My romance, doesn't need to have a moon in the sky_

_My romance, doesn't need a blue lagoon standing by_

_No month of May, no twinkling stars_

_No hideaway, no soft guitar_

_My romance doesn't need a castle rising in Spain_

_Or a dance to a constantly surprising refrain_

_All at once I can make my most fantastic dreams come true_

_My romance, doesn't need a thing but you_

_My romance doesn't need a castle rising in Spain_

_Or a dance to a constantly surprising refrain_

_And wide awake, I can make my most fantastic dreams come true_

_My romance, doesn't need a thing but you, but you_

His last song of the night.

The sun was disappearing behind the horizon as he hummed the last note and pulled his soulmate in closer. He could feel Steve faintly shaking in his arms.

"I… I think I'm gonna go lie down," Steve murmured. There was a light rasp to his voice.

Bucky followed him to the bedroom where a small bed and an extra mattress were and pulled the blankets on the bed back for Steve.

"There you go, Stevie," he murmured. "Get nice and cozy.”

"Thank you, Buck," murmured Steve. "You always took such good care of me," his eyes looked sincere. "You always worked so hard to give me a good life.” He smiled weakly. “You can rest now."

There went Bucky's eyes again, spilling waterfalls. He pulled Steve back in for a hug, dampening Steve’s golden locks with tears..

"I'm staying with you," he whispered. "Until… until the time comes, because when I asked you to live with me all those years ago, I meant every word," he pulled back to meet Steve's eyes. "I'm with you till the end of the line."

Steve's first tear that evening rolled down his cheek. The whisper of an unspoken secret glinted deep in Steve’s eyes. He looked like he wanted to voice it, but apparently not even he had the courage for that. Perhaps he thought it was too late. Steve lowered his eyes, apparently deciding against it. So instead, they just got into bed together.

Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve and buried his face in the nape of Steve’s neck. It was getting cold and clammy and Steve was beginning to shiver, like when he got one of his many colds in the past, his worst being pneumonia.

Even when Sarah was still alive, Bucky would come by to spend all his free time keeping sick Steve company and helping Sarah to care for him. It's why he knew how to take care of Steve so well after Sarah passed. The routine was always the same. He'd give Steve his medicine, change the bed's sweat soaked sheets while Steve sat in the bath Bucky had run for him, and he always made sure Steve came back from his bath to a steaming bowl of homemade chicken noodle soup. He always used Sarah’s recipe. The last thing he always did was get Steve into bed for the night. Sometimes, he even slept next to Steve to keep him warm. A little intimate for friends to do, but neither boy ever questioned it.

Bucky held back a sob as the last rays of sunlight slunk behind the ramshackle buildings to the west of their apartment complex. The light's absence shrouded them in darkness, and made the room feel cold as Steve began to shiver more violently. If it weren't for him grasping Bucky's hand, Bucky might've sworn Steve was having a seizure. The sound of Steve's teeth chattering was awful. 

Bucky held him tighter, squeezing any space between their bodies away, trying to warm Steve back up.

“Just rest,” he said, struggling to keep his voice even. “It’ll be just like falling asleep.” He stifled another sob. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he murmured.

He continued to hold Steve tight, not caring if he got bit by him in the middle of the night. He’d known for a while now that he’d happily die to protect Steve -- it was why he was willing to ship out. Too little, too late. But now, instead of them dying apart, they could at least do one last thing together. Bucky found peace in that. It filled him with a calmness he’d never experienced before and his eyes drifted shut, shortly after Steve’s shivering stopped.

…

The next morning, Bucky awoke to warm sunlight streaming in through the bedroom’s cracked window. Its light caused him to squeeze his eyes shut again, breaking apart the dried saline his tears had left on his cheeks. Despite the sun’s warmth shining directly onto him, he still felt cold. Steve’s body heat was gone, his space in the bed empty. Bucky checked his own body for bites and, surprisingly, found none. Had Steve wandered off before…? He couldn’t have. Bucky was sure he’d felt Steve's body go cold last night after Steve's violent shivering had ceased.

“Buck?”

The gentle beckon startled Bucky and he whipped his head in the direction of the noise. There stood Steve in the bedroom doorway, patting his bite mark with some cloth.

“I don't feel sick anymore,” he declared. “I think I passed out last night, but I woke up an hour ago, and I felt fine.” He shrugged his narrow shoulders. “Still do.”

This was unheard of. No cases of immunity had ever been reported.

Bucky couldn't believe his eyes. _Had_ he been bitten by Steve last night, and now he was having a fever dream as he drifted away into oblivion? He sprang out of bed, rushed over to Steve, and slapped his palm on Steve’s forehead. Steve teetered back from the force and chuckled patiently at Bucky's antics. Steve's fever, the film of sweat he had fallen asleep in, and his shivers were all gone. Bucky seized Steve's tiny shoulders.

The two men stared at each other, as if they’d find the answer for this phenomenon in the other’s eyes. After a moment, they decided they didn’t really care anymore. The miracle was all that mattered.

“See, didn’t I always tell you, Wolfie?” said Bucky with tears of relief in his eyes. He pulled Steve in for a hug. “You’re a fighter.”


End file.
